The Strangest Things Happen When Sleep Texting
by Greenstuff
Summary: Mary works to discover Marshall's deepest darkest secret.  Written as a present for LunarPenguinCpht
1. Chapter 1

**The Strangest Things Happen When Sleep Texting**

**PART I**

MM: no white

MS: At least not after Labour Day

MM: Broken

MS: Your head?

MM: Ice Skating

MS: It's August, Doofus. The rink is closed.

MM: Chpt 4...

MS: Marshall, I told u I refuse 2 txt in code.

Mary re-read the baffling series of text messages on her Blackberry for the seventeenth time since it had occurred two nights earlier. Marshall was due back from Washington this morning, after a nearly two week long trial, and she wasn't planning to let him so much as sit at his desk until he explained what was going on in that squirrely head of his. Text messages weren't unusual between the partners, especially when one of them was off on assignment alone for so long, but generally they didn't come in at 2 in the morning, and they usually made sense.

She refused to admit that there may be another motive for being at the office at six am on a Monday morning. Things had been strained with her and Marshall for months. Ever since he'd told her she should be looking for someone and she'd taken her vacation with Mike Faber in Mexico. When she'd returned to Albuquerque she'd been defensive about her choice, which had ended disastrously three days before she was due to return home, and he had been distant. It wasn't until almost a week later she learned he was dating a local cop. The strain in their normally bulletproof partnership made Mary cautious and angry. Angry because she was not someone who tiptoed about trying to please others and yet, that was exactly what she had been doing even since she'd returned from Mexico.

It was only when the cop, a red head named Abigail, broke up with Marshall (because she was convinced he was cheating on her since he took calls from women at all hours and was never able to tell her where he was going)that things between he and Mary began to return to normal. That had been two and a half weeks ago, three days before he left for Washington. He'd arrived on her front porch at eight thirty with a pizza and a bottle of tequila and they'd talked like friends for the first time in weeks, but it would take more than one night of drinking to get back to normal.

Mary's musings were cut short by the sound of the elevator doors sliding open. She turned and her heart leapt a little at the familiar sight of Marshall Mann stepping out onto the top floor of the Sunshine Building.

He looked tired. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, his white shirt wasn't as crisp as usual and there was an unusual stoop in his shoulders. But despite evident exhaustion, he smiled at her as he made a beeline for the coffee maker.

"Long trip?" she asked. It was lame, but it was the only thing she could think of to break the silence.

"Yeah. Drove all night so Matt Desmond could make it back to Phoenix this morning to surprise his wife on her birthday. Got in at four am." He added three sugar cubes and a pair of creamers to his coffee, downed the sweet mess in one gulp and poured another cup.

Mary smirked. Marshall, even after the recent dumping, was an incurable romantic, she would bet good money it had been his idea in the first place to drive the night through to make sure Mrs Desmond had a birthday surprise in the form of her fat, balding slob of a husband. Desmond was one US Marshal Mary would never be paired with again, not after the time she locked him out of their shared room on a witness transport because she'd caught him checking out her ass and he was forced to sleep in the SUV in 40 degree weather. "How was the trial?"

"Long." Marshall took his third cup of coffee back to his desk and collapsed in an ungainly heap in his chair. "but Morano got ten years, and no one tried to kill Tommy, so it could have been much worse."

Mary glanced down at the Blackberry in her hands before smirking at her partner, "When did you find time to go Ice Skating?"

"Ice Skating?" Marshall looked at her like she's lost her marbles.

"You sent me a text Friday night about ice skating." Mary held up her Blackberry as if he could see the screen from his side of the office. "Not that I don't love your cryptic word games, but care to explain?"

With considerable effort, Marshall rose from his seat and covered the ten foot distance between them so he could take her Blackberry and read the messages himself. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on the words and then an unmistakable pink blush spread over his cheeks. He handed the Blackberry back to Mary without meeting her eyes. "I have no idea. I must have been sleep texting."

Mary's eyes narrowed. "Then why are you blushing?"

"I'm no-"

"You are! You're blushing like that time I caught you and your algebra teacher making out in my car." Mary grinned, any lingering awkwardness between them forgotten in her singular desire to know why the cryptic, nonsensical texts made her partner blush like a virgin on her wedding night. "Come on Marshall, just tell me."

"There's nothing to tell!" Marshall protested weakly, the pink tinge of his cheeks darkening.

Mary smirked, "I think your nose just grew."

"Don't you have work to do?" Marshall retreated to his desk, being careful to keep his face averted so she wouldn't see the embarrassment all over his face. If she ever found out it would be the end of him. Mary had wheedled out some mortifying confessions over their nearly eight year partnership, but this one put them all to shame. And shame was exactly what he would feel if Mary found out this particular secret. Oh no, he was taking this one to the grave, no matter how adorable she looked when she thought she had something on him.

"You know I will find out eventually." Mary said, settling back in her chair and watching him. "You can never hold out on me for long."

Marshall focused all of his attention on logging into his computer and pulling up his email. Though he always had it forwarded when he was away on work business, he rarely had time to read more than the subject lines. By the time he made it through a half dozen memos and twenty or so witness updates his face no longer felt like it was on fire and he allowed himself to sneak a glance at Mary.

She was staring at him intently, almost as if she were trying to decide which part of him to cut off and cook first. It was a little creepy, but he was saved from having to say so by the ringing of her desk phone.

Mary made a face, but picked it up by the third ring. "Hey Stan."

Marshall took advantage of her distraction, gathering up the documents he would need for a day of witness visits, he fled the office.

Marshall managed to keep himself busy and away for the office for the rest of the day, but the next morning Mary was once again lying in wait when he stepped out of the elevator.

She didn't even wait for the door to click shut behind him before leaping in with her first questions. "Who is she?"

It was not the question he'd been expecting, but he deflected it easily enough. "Which she?"

"The ice skating bimbo who invaded your sleep so deeply you texted me about her, of course." Mary smiled in the self satisfied manner she usually reserved for after winning a bet.

"There is no ice-skating-bimbo."

"Ice-skating-man was it?"

Marshall smirked. If she was already jumping to insinuations about his sexuality she was out of ideas. "You would be amazed how graceful Desmond is in figure skates."

Mary choked on her coffee.

"Really, it is a crime the man isn't doing ice capades, he has some serious talents."

Mary's glare was her only response. She was ninety percent certain he was lying to throw her off the track of his latest female conquest, but with nothing more to go on than 'ice skating' figuring out who was going to take more finesse than she was capable of at six thirty in the morning.

Silence reigned in the office for the next half hour while Marshall caught himself up on paperwork that had piled up in his absence and Mary drank three cups of coffee in an attempt to stimulate the scheming half of her brain.

When the idea came to her it was almost too perfect. It was subtle, not generally her strong suit, and almost guaranteed to make Marshall drop his guard. Now all she needed was a way to make him think it was his idea.

Her opening came at 1:35 that afternoon. They were sitting in the glorious sunshine on the rooftop of the Sunshine Building lunching on salads and smoothies from a deli down the street when Marshall mentioned that a new witness he'd recently helped settle in had a new Chow puppy.

"Chow's... aren't they huge?" Mary asked, trying to picture the petite Trish Johansson or her prissy ten year old daughter Sheena grooming, walking or picking up after a massive, puffy, orange dog.

"They can grow to about 70lbs." Marshall said. "I think it was mostly for Brian." Brian was the family's eight year old son. "He couldn't stop talking about him the entire time. It was C3PO this, C3PO that. The kid is a serious Star Wars nut."

"Isn't C3PO a robot?"

One corner of Marshall's mouth rose in an amused smirk, "Yeah?"

"It's a seriously shaggy dog. Shouldn't they have called it Chewbacca or something?"

"I had a Dalmatian named Solid when I was his age." Marshall said with a shrug, "Eight year old boys are more abstract than you might think. Probably C3PO reminded Brian of Chewbacca so he chose a name from Star Wars."

"So basically a puppy in an eight year old's mind is like one of those annoying ink blot tests the department shrinks are always trying to make me take? Associate it with something and then say the polar opposite out loud so no one looks at you funny or takes away your gun?"

Marshall laughed. "Something like that. Although, they don't usually allow eight year olds to own firearms in Albuquerque."

"Weren't there other fuzzy things in Star Wars? I seem to recall a bunch of midgets in cat-suits clamouring about the forest in one of them."

It took several moments for Marshall to stop coughing, having inhaled a mouthful of smoothie. "Ewoks in the sixth movie. They were more like teddy bears than cats. I thought you liked that one?"

"It was the best of them, but those furry midgets were just weird."

"This is why you need to watch them sober." Marshall replied with a grin, "I seem to recall having to peel you off the floor and load you into a cab when that marathon was over."

"What about this weekend? Unless you have a date."

Marshall regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before replying, "Abby and I broke up... you know that."

"You're telling me a tall drink of water like yourself has managed to stay single for almost three weeks?" Mary kept her tone light and a teasing smile on her face.

"It's been a busy nineteen days."

Mary sighed. Marshall was wilier than she'd expected. She would have to step up her game if she wanted to find out the source of the late night nonsense text messages.

* * *

Marshall had been in love with Mary Shannon for most of their eight year partnership which is why he hadn't even seen Abigail coming until she had wormed her way past most of his defences. Though she was a strong woman and worked in law enforcement, she was Mary's opposite in nearly everything else. Abby was warm and open, she had a great relationship with her married-for-twenty-years, high-school-principal parents. And most importantly of all, she had pursued him.

At first it had been a dream come true, but after a few weeks, the differences between the two women that had at first seemed so very perfect began to grate on him. It didn't help that she didn't understand the secrets he kept about his work. More than once she would come to his place after a particularly harrowing day at work, collapse on his couch with a glass of red wine, and talk it out to his sympathetic ear. The fact that he never reciprocated or shared the slightest what he did on the days and nights he was out of the office was the cause of their first fight and their third and their sixteenth and their last. In the end, it was Abby who pulled the trigger, but though Marshall had been disappointed that he had, once again, failed at a relationship with a wonderful woman, it had been the right move.

The one thing he regretted was that his relationship with Mary, strained by his loss of control months earlier, had diminished to nothing more than an amicable work partnership. They'd been best friends and now they felt like strangers, and he blamed himself entirely.

It was because of all of this that Marshall accepted Mary's suggestion for a Star Wars marathon that weekend at his home. Why he spent half the morning cleaning the apartment, removing any lingering souvenirs of his time with Abby and stocking the fridge with her favourite beer. He stopped short of ordering ribs from her favorite restaurant, _this is not a date_, settling instead for sending her a text reading "pizza?" to which she replied "I'll pick it up".

At quarter to three, Marshall had run out of things to keep him busy, and he still had forty-five minutes until Mary was scheduled to arrive. They'd agreed to keep the marathon to the original trilogy, but it would still take more than 7 hours to get through it all, especially with Mary's habit of talking through the important parts and then pausing later so Marshall would explain what it was she missed.

After checking the contents of his fridge for the third time, Marshall finally grabbed his laptop computer and settled down on the couch, his legs stretched out, feet resting on the coffee table. He checked his email, another one from mom but it would wait until tomorrow, and then pulled up Microsoft Word. He read over the last few paragraphs, catching his mind up to where he'd left off the last time and then began to type. His fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping in time with the rapid, easy flow of his thoughts. In minutes he'd all but forgotten that he was once again single and pining over a woman who would never return his feelings. His mind was immersed in a world far from the deserts of Albuquerque. The world he now inhabited was filled with magic and impossible romance that blossomed into delicious reality.

The doorbell rang twice before it managed to penetrate through Marshall's fog of concentration. He finished the sentence he was on, hit ctrl+S, and slapped the laptop shut. He was just placing the laptop on the table when Mary, sick of waiting, opened the door and stepped inside. He breathed a sigh of relief that she'd rang the doorbell before barging into his home. A year ago she would have waltzed in five minutes earlier than he expected her with no warning, just to see if she could catch him at something embarrassing. _Thank God she didn't do that._

Marshall could feel a blush coloring his cheeks and quickly turned so Mary wouldn't see it. She'd let go of the text message issue suspiciously quickly, he would bet the safety of all of his witnesses that she was simply waiting for him to do something stupid, like blush while hiding his laptop under the couch. "Beer's in the fridge, oven's preheated for the pizzas." He said, scooping up his laptop and carrying it to his bedroom. _Best not to leave it out where Mary can snoop about in my files_. For all she teased him about paranoia, he knew as well as she did that without it there wouldn't be a secret left in his life that she didn't know.

Mary emerged from the kitchen with two bottles of beer, coming to a sudden stop just inside his living room. "Oh my God Marshall! It's _huge_! How'd you ever fit it in here?"

After a moment of confusion, he realized Mary hadn't seen his 72 inch plasma before. He'd bought it while she was in Mexico. "It's only 72 inches, and it's one of the thinnest on the market," he smirked at her, "I needed a real TV to fully appreciate my new collector's edition Lord of the Rings blue ray."

"Geek through and through, but at least you have good choice in beer."

Marshall chuckled. He'd learned years ago that from Mary 'geek' wasn't an insult, just an observation. "Shall we?" He held up the collector's edition blue ray.

"The sooner we start the sooner I get to drink you under the table."

The first time Marshall had watched a Star Was movie with Mary he had been forcibly introduced to the Star Wars Drinking Game. "Maybe we should just skip to the end, since that's the part you claim to have forgotten. Did you know that George Lucas made an entire Ewok movie because the Ewoks were so beloved?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Just put in the movie and grab us each another beer, we're going to need it."

By the end of the first movie, taking a sip for every "I have a bad feeling about this", "Only hope", sighting of a woman over than Leia, good guy wearing white, tremor in the force and whine from Luke Skywalker, they were both pretty tipsy. Mary was sprawled, half lying, half sitting, her feet in Marshall's lap. It was the closest to normal they had been since before Faber and Abigail, and Marshall was enjoying every minute of it.

They took a break for pizza before the second movie. The everything-under-the-sun-but-pineapple pizza Mary had brought from Papa Murphy's was baked to perfection and helped absorb some of the alcohol in their stomachs.

As they settled back in for movie number two, each with a stock of beer to get them through another two hours of someone trying to get money from Han, elaborate aliens with no lines, and Han and Lando in the same room as one other (double shot if they speak to one another), Mary smiled over at him. "Nice to have you back, partner. This hell hole you lured me to is boring without you here to torture."

Despite the typical Mary Shannon disclaimer, Marshall was touched by the fact that she would admit she missed him at all. "I missed you too," he said, holding her gaze until she dropped her eyes uncomfortably to the beer in her hands. Marshall scolded himself inwardly for opening his mouth at all. Somehow, despite the many times Mary had run from him, his mouth still hadn't learned when to stay shut. But when he took his seat on the couch, Mary set her feet back in his lap and wiggled her toes in silent plea for a foot rub.

Her eyes remained glued to the screen for the next two hours, but at least she wasn't running.

It was nearly midnight when Marshall switched off the TV. For several minutes they sat in comfortable silence in his dark living room. They'd shifted positions several timed throughout the evening. Now, Mary was lying with her feet over the arm of the couch, her head and shoulder resting against Marshall's chest while he sat at an angle, his heels resting between beer bottles on the table.

Somewhere around the time Leia and Luke rescued Han from Jabba the Hut they had both abandoned the drinking game and settled back to enjoy the rest of the movie. Mary had been uncharacteristically quiet through the Ewok scenes and Marshall wondered if she had fallen asleep. He couldn't see her face without disturbing her and she was warm and soft against him, so for now he was content to stay just as they were. He let his head fall back against the couch and in minutes the slightly spinning ceiling and Mary's warm weight against his chest lulled Marshall to sleep.

* * *

Marshall woke up the next morning to an aching head and a scribbled note from Mary.

_Didn't want to wake you. How do you feel about sushi for dinner? That is, if you're not too hung over. _

_- M _

At that moment, sushi sounded like the most disgusting thing in the world, but it was only eight am. After a shower, a nap in bed rather than sitting up on his couch and a couple aspirin and he would be back to his normal Japanese-food-loving self. He reached for his phone, _weird, that is not where I left it last night,_ and texted Mary that he was in for Sushi and would pick her up at seven.

It wasn't until almost two hours, one shower, a litre of water and a handful of painkillers, that Marshall realized why his phone had been on the wrong side of the coffee table. He shook his head. At least while she was hunting for the secret girl friend he didn't have she was unlikely to discover his real secret shame. He considered adding a few mysterious contacts to his phone just to throw her off, but the fear that Mary would track down and hound the owner of any fake number he entered stopped him. Mary was one of the most determined people he had ever encountered. No one hunted criminals, secrets and delicious free food like she did.

Across town, Mary was feeling more than a little frustrated. Her plan to get Marshall drunk had half worked. He'd certainly been two and a half sheets to the wind by the time he called it quits, but he had still remained frustratingly closed lipped about his ice skating, Washington DC paramour. She considered briefly the idea that Marshall might not be lying about his single status. It had been only three weeks since he'd rejoined the eligible bachelor pool, but with no better explanation for the cryptic texts, she was determined to crack him.

Tonight's sushi was a different tact. Knowing Marshall, there was no way he would have started a relationship without showing off his love for and deep knowledge of Japanese culture. The man folded paper cranes in his spare time for fuck sake. If he'd taken this woman to a sushi restaurant in DC there was no way he would manage not to mention her over a tray of sashimi. She conveniently ignored the fact that their entire careers depended on their ability to keep secrets. This was Marshall, her Marshall, he couldn't hold out on her for long.

Mary took longer than usual to get ready for her dinner, _not a date_, with Marshall. She told herself that looking amazing would remind send Marshall into a downward spiral of cheater's guilt, while telling the other voices in her head who suggested more personal reasons for her attire to shut up. Still she couldn't deny the little pool of warmth in her belly when Marshall's brilliant blue eyes looked her up and down like she was the last popsicle at the picnic.

Marshall chose the restaurant, I Love Sushi. It was one of Mary's favourite sushi restaurants because of their Teppan grill and one he liked as well for their delicious unagi. It was an unassuming restaurant in a strip mall on San Mateo Boulevard, painted a pale pink with lots of blonde wood inside. It was about as far from trendy as possible, but the food was delicious. Tonight the place was packed.

The waitress escorted them to the back corner of the restaurant where a tiny booth barely big enough for two was just being wiped down by a bus boy. Mary sat first, back to the wall, a habit from the job that she never seemed able to shake even when they were off duty.

Marshall took the seat opposite. There was a large photograph on the wall behind Mary's head and it caught his attention as he sat. The picture showed a young boy, maybe as old as ten, smiling broadly from above the head of a beautiful elephant. "Did you know that it takes baby elephants six months to learn how to use their trunk? Baron Cuvier estimated that the trunk had 40,000 muscles in it."

"I never liked elephants." Mary said, wrinkling her nose as if remembering their smell.

"I didn't know there were any animals you liked." Marshall teased.

"I like lions."

Her expression grew wistful and Marshall clamped down the urge to tell her that lions are the only cats who live in family units or that lions have been known to survive droughts in the Kalahari Desert by eating tsama melons.

"When I was six, I had my picture taken with a baby lion at the Cape May County zoo once. I think that was the last family photo we ever took."

Silence reigned at the table for several minutes, Mary lost in her own thoughts and Marshall loath to interrupt them. When the waitress came with tea and menus, Mary snapped out of her silent contemplation and scanned the menu eagerly. While she usually stuck to something safe, California or avocado rolls, he always let her pick one outrageous roll for them to share. It had become a game over the years, with Mary trying, and thus far failing utterly, to find a roll that Marshall would refuse to eat.

Tonight it was uni, sea urchin. The one Japanese delicacy aside from fugu Marshall would never order for himself. He could tell by the smirk on Mary's face shat she thought this one was the winner. Just for that he would have to enjoy it.

"Did you know that the oldest fossil of a sea urchin dates from the Ordovician period of the Palaeozoic era?"

"I'm sure these ones are fresher than that." Mary said, rolling her eyes.

Marshall ignored her, launching into a long winded description of this documentary he'd seen on Animal Planet.

Mary took a sip of her tea and let his familiar voice wash over her. Most of the time she tolerated Marshall's random factoids, though she never gave up an opportunity make his life difficult by teasing him about his inability to stop talking. Today however she was almost grateful for the steady stream of useless facts pouring from his mouth. It allowed her a chance to think.

The night before had been just like old times. Perhaps for the first time in a year she hadn't felt a need to filter her words or parse his for subtext. True, she was still hyper aware of him and had almost jumped out of her skin every time their bodies touched, and when she'd woken up nestled against him all she had wanted to do was snuggle closer and go back to sleep, so things weren't quite normal. She'd never before had the urge to cuddle, with anyone, let alone Marshall, or the hyper awareness she had of him; of where his hand lay on the table, three inches away from her own, of the way his long legs were stretched out beneath her chair as he leaned back, relaxed and comfortable. It was exhilarating. It scared her.

She allowed her eyes to study his face. There was certainly warmth in his blue eyes and the way his lips curled upwards as he spoke. He looked content, almost happy, and she realized it had been a long time since she had seen him look this good. There were new lines on his face, one's she'd never noticed forming but that now jumped out at her as clearly as if they'd been etched in neon lights. Each line was a worry she'd ignored or a joke she'd missed. The idea that so much of Marshall's life had gone by without her attention was surprisingly painful. Some best friend she was if she didn't even remember when he'd developed a faint frown line between his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, Marshall." The words slipped out without thought, interrupting Marshall mid-sentence.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her face, expression thoughtful.

When he didn't speak for several moments Mary swallowed the desire to backpedal by saying something snide about her brain having been numbed into a coma by his incessant nattering and let the truth pour forth. "I don't have a lot of friends. The truth is I've always thought that other people aren't worth the time and effort when they will inevitably turn out to be idiots or traitors. But we were friends," Marshall's expression tightened and Mary amended quickly, "are friends. Truthfully, you're the best friend I have ever had. But you got the short end of the stick." She dropped her eyes from his face, unwilling to meet his concerned eyes, "I'm a terrible friend and you deserve so much better than me."

"Mary-"

"No." Mary shook her head sharply. "You warned me about Raph, and Mike Faber, and I ignored it and resented you later for being right. You found a wonderful girlfriend and I didn't say a single nice word to either of you. I need you in my life, but that doesn't mean I have the right to put you in a little box labelled Partner and lash out anytime you step outside it."

Marshall's hand closed over hers on the table. "Mare," his voice was gentle, pleading. "Look at me."

Obediently, Mary raised her eyes to his. The mixture of warmth and pain in his eyes twisted her heart into a painful knot.

"First of all, I am not going anywhere." He ran his thumb over the back of her hand in slow soothing semi-circles. "Secondly, you are the best partner I have ever had, and a pretty damn fine friend as well." He dropped her hand so he could brush a strand of hair away from her eyes.

The intimacy of the gesture left Mary slightly breathless. She found her eyes falling to his lips. Why had she never noticed until tonight how soft they looked. She wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by that mouth. The mouth that spent its days comforting criminals and spouting trivia might have other, more pleasant uses.

"The only thing you need to apologize for is making me eat sea urchin." He grinned, eyes twinkling.

Mary tried to smile back but even the corners of her mouth refused to cooperate. "You could admit defeat."

"Never."

This time Mary was able to return his grin.

* * *

For the second time in less than a week, Mary arrived at the office just as the sun was peeking its head above the horizon. She would have a little over an hour before anyone else, namely Marshall, would consider coming in. She just hoped it was enough. Barely taking the time to remove her coat and start the coffee maker, Mary headed straight to her partner's desk.

A quick scan of the surface told her she wouldn't find any evidence of his time in DC here. Marshall was wily. If he had kept a memento of his brief romance, and she was betting that he had, it would be well concealed. She tapped the space bar on the computer, waking it, and gave it a minute to warm up before taking a wild stab at Marshall's password.

Thirteen tries later she abandoned that idea as a waste of time. She also left the locked drawers of his desk alone, turning her focus to the book shelf under the window. Mostly the shelf was filled with state codes and WITSEC regulations that they occasionally needed to reference in the course of their job. But Marshall had claimed an entire shelf years earlier to store whichever encyclopaedia he was trying to memorize that week and a collection of random knick-knacks whose purpose Mary had never been able to determine.

Mary crouched so she was on eye level with Marshall's shelf. The usual culprits were there. The little red bird with his bright blue top hat bobbing in an endless quest for just one more drink - she remembered when this had first appeared six months earlier, it had reminded her of Jinx. There was an origami crane, very like the one he had given her a year ago; a tiny cactus which looks fuzzy but was sure to leave a mark if you tried to pet it, she'd learned that the hard way; and a row of metal objects she couldn't identify, though she suspected they were the type of annoying puzzle Marshall lived for and she loathed. There were no new knick-knacks, so Mary turned her attention to the books.

She'd learned early in their partnership that knowing was Marshall was reading only made her dread the day that he would choose to share what he thought were the interesting bits, so she had no idea which books were there before the transport. None of the title jumped out at her, _Of Human Bondage_, _The Gashlycrumb Tinies_, _A Brief History of Time_, and _An Introduction to Modern Astrophysics _all fit into Marshall's broad and bizarre literary taste. They were all old, hard covers faded with age, certainly not gifts from a secret lover. Although _Of Human Bondage _had sounded promising until she turned to the first sentence and realized it was unlikely to feature the fun bondage.

Sighing in frustration, Mary rose to her feet and scanned the office. She was running out of time and places to look. Her eyes landed on a framed picture on the top of a filing cabinet. She didn't remember seeing it before. She picked it up and on closer inspection realized it was a school portrait from when Marshall was about nine. When she'd finished imagining the dozen ways she could mock him for the way his dumbo ears stuck out through his shaggy brown hair she realized that the simple paper frame was thicker and heavier than it should have been.

It took her only a few seconds to remove the picture from its frame. Beneath the original picture she found two more pictures, a letter from Marshall's mother, and a folded sheet of computer paper, half covered in Marshall's familiar scrall. She slid the pictures back into the frame, propped it back up on the filing cabinet and took the piece of paper back to her desk.

_Ginny slid to a stop a few feet from the edge of the Great Lake, the blade of her skate sending up a small shower of snow. "See? It's perfectly safe. Don't you trust me?"_

_Draco eyed her incredulously, "Well you wore that hat outside where people can see so.. no, not a whole lot."_

_"What's wrong with my hat?"_

_"It looks like something someone with no taste would buy for a half-pence at a flea market."_

_"My mother made me this hat! It is ador-" she paused mid-word and stared at him as if he had suddenly grown three heads and one of them was wearing a top hat, "wait... how do you know about flea markets?"_

_"I took Muggle Studies!" Draco protested._

_Ginny raised an eyebrow._

_"Once. In third year." He amended grudgingly. Truthfully he had only attended one class before his father forced him to switch to anything else. According to Lucius Malfoy the only thing one had to understand about Muggle was that they weren't worthy of time or attention, and surely they could incorporate that into the Dark Arts class. _

_"On a dare?" Ginny guessed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. _

Mary stared at the paper, brow furrowed confusion. _What the hell was this? _She certainly didn't remember a scene with ice skating in any of the Harry Potter movies, and why would Marshall have printed out half a page of a Harry Potter book only to hide it inside the frame of his school portrait? It made no sense.

The whirring of the elevator coming to life cut off her train of thought. There was no time to return the paper to Marshall's desk. Instead she tucked it under a pile of papers in her desk drawer. She had just managed to log into her computer so it would look like she had been hard at work when the elevator doors opened.

"Good morning inspector." Stan said, shooting Mary a slightly puzzled look before disappearing into his office. There was something going on with his inspectors, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. There was a point at which if he knew he would have to intervene, or even report it, for now he was happy to remain ignorant. And if that something he was blissfully ignorant of meant Mary Shannon voluntarily early for work, so much the better. So when Mary's voice penetrated through his office wall, "Ice Skating, Jesus, Marshall!" Stan pretended he hadn't heard a thing.

When Marshall entered the office at nine am, Mary still had not decided how best to use her newly gained knowledge. Following her weekend of revelations, it suddenly seemed wrong to attack him with both barrels. Instead she almost felt she needed to apologize for not believing him earlier, now wouldn't that mess with his mind.

Marshall noticed Mary watching him. He did not like that smile. That smile meant Mary had something on him but she wasn't quite ready to use it yet. That smile meant trouble.

Mary spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to return the stolen paper to its home inside Marshall's school photo, but an opportunity didn't come. Marshall it seemed was determined to stay at his desk for inhuman lengths of time and it seemed like every time he rose to pee or refill his coffee, Stan would step out to asked her something inane. The third time Marshall had moved from his desk Stan had grilled her for five minutes about the Fleigler. She was starting to suspect they'd planned this. _Damn Marshall is wily._

When Marshall's phone rang and he rushed out of the office with nothing more than a "I'll be back in an hour." Mary thought she finally had her moment.

She opened her drawer and picked up the one page story, sneaking a glance at Stan's office to make sure the chief was occupied. From there it was seven steps to Marshall's desk, snatch up the photo and seven steps back. At least if they caught her with Marshall's photo she could convincingly argue that she'd only taken it so she could mock him for his dumb ears. Something she made a mental note to do just because she could.

It didn't take Mary long to slide the sheet of paper back into Marshall's secret stash. She shot a second look at Stan's office, confirming that he was still yelling into his phone complete with angry hand gestures and, even with his blinds open, probably wouldn't notice if she set Marshall's desk on fire. _Excellent_. She placed the portrait back exactly where she found it and turned back to her desk, but halfway there a devious smile spread over her face.

Marshall may collect useless crap, but he arranged it precisely and noticed immediately when it was out of place. Humming to herself, Mary turned the photo so it angled towards Stan's office instead of straight on to Marshall's desk. It was enough her partner would notice, but not enough for him to mention without sounding like he'd finally flipped his lid. _God I'm good._

The rest of the day was pretty much a wash as far as work went. Mary went through the motions of her job. She mediated a fight between two witnesses over whether or not naming their new dog the same name as the dog that had died and been buried at their old home in their old life would violate their security or just the laws of common decency, and managed to line up yet another job for William Hearst who did not yet understand that calling his boss an incompetent twat was very different from belittling the illegal immigrants he'd used as drug mules in his past life. Still throughout it all she couldn't stop her eyes from wandering over to Marshall's desk, or a secret little smile from curling her lips even as they uttered brain nuking things like "No, I don't think naming your dog fluffy will put your kids in danger... no not even if they take fluffy to the park." and "was it really necessary to actually whip it out? ...Well next time he will oppress charges and you will be out of the program... Yes, William, it is illegal to flash teenage girls in the USA, has been for a while."

Marshall returned to the office as Mary was finishing up that particular gem. He shot a puzzled glance at his mis-positioned photo and slid into his seat, "William Hearst?"

"How did you ever guess?"

"He's practically uxorious when it comes to you. And I can see why, you're so very loving with him." Marshall dodged the pen she threw at his head. "What is deal William up to anyhow?"

"He is _what_? Jesus Marshall, speak English!"

Marshall sighed his Jesus-save-me-from-the-ignorance-of-the-universe-especially-from-the-ignorance-of-Mary-Shannon sigh. "It means having or showing an excessive or submissive fondness for one's wife."

"Wife?"

"I just meant he is bizarrely affectionate and submissive to you. Especially given the way he acts around the rest of the universe."

"You know Marshall," Mary tilted her head, "Using big, fancy words for the sake of using big, fancy words makes you sound like a 12 year old who just discovered the built-in thesaurus in Microsoft Word... Or, like Marshall Mann." She sighed her own Jesus-save-me-from-my-idiot-savant-partner sigh. "Jesus, Doofus, how do you ever expect to get laid when you talk like that?"

"I thought I would start by finding out what William Hearst does and do the exact opposite." He said with a smart ass grin.

"That's a start. He's in fine form this week, dangled little-Willy in front of some of his teenage customers at Hollister."

Marshall gave her his _what did I tell you?_ look and Mary barely restrained herself form throwing something larger than a pen at his head. "I know, I know. But we're running out of shops in Albuquerque that will hire a twenty-two year old Hispanic boy who didn't finish sixth grade because he was too busy learning the ropes of the family sex trade."

"Well with that sales pitch."

"Not my finest." Mary turned back to her computer, letting the silence linger for a moment before adding, "Maybe you should write me a better one." Out of the corner of her eye she could swear Marshall looked to the photo and paled two shades before coming up with a reply.

"Not even my brain could come up with a sales pitch that would help William Hearst keep a job."

"True story."

* * *

Over the next three days, Mary took every opportunity she could find to aim subtle jabs at Marshall's secret fiction habit; everything from leaving a copy of _Idiots Guide to Fiction _on his desk, to asking him for his expert opinion on how she should phase her formal complaint to Stan about William Hearst to loading his computer history with Harry Potter fan fiction sites any time he left it unguarded.

Finally, on Thursday afternoon when Stan was out of the office and they were all alone, Marshall turned to her. "So you know."

"Know what?" Mary asked, eyes wide with feigned ignorance.

Marshall didn't need to say anything, his blue eyes drilled into her until she caved.

"Fine. I found a page of your writing last week." Mary half mumbled the sentence, hoping the admission would be enough to keep her ever inquisitive partner from delving too deeply into just how she had stumbled upon a sheet of paper he had hidden with more than a little care.

He continued to stare at her, unwavering. It was unnerving and Mary fought the urge to spill even more secrets. It was really no wonder that Marshall was so good with his witnesses, the man should be working for the CIA. Who needed truth serum when the steady, knowing ice blue eyes would make the Pope admit to watching child pornography.

"Fine! I was going through your stuff looking for proof you have a girlfriend. Happy?"

Marshall smirked. "Very." He paused for a second, "did you find any?"

Mary glared at him for a moment. "If you're going to ell me that you had a girlfriend this entire time..."

He grinned in a way she knew he thought was enigmatic, really it was just obnoxious. "So you didn't find anything."

"The only thing I found, Marshall, is fifteen different reasons you should never have been able to have sex. Ever."

He managed to look affronted and amused at the same time. "Only fifteen?"

"Where should I start..." Mary tapped one finger against her lips, miming deep thought. "How about Harry Potter Fan Fiction? Or maybe the fact that you are terrified of clowns."

"Colourophobia is more common than you might think," Marshall interjected mildly. "And how did you find out I was afraid of clowns?"

"Letter from your mother." Mary's tone was dismissive, this was not the point she was trying to make. "There is also your addiction to animals folded out of paper. You study astrophysics and call it a hobby, you MAMBO..." she trailed off with a significant lift of one eyebrow.

"That's five." Marshall was starting to look positively gleeful.

It would never do. "You read the dictionary and then use it to make yourself look smart, you known the most inane trivia about everything... in short, that filter – the one that is supposed to stop you from making an ass of yourself – is broken. You own Star Trek on VHS, DVD and Blueray, you waste hours on the phone with HR discussing rounding to recoup a few pennies, you eat Crasins on your oatmeal..."

"Are we counting Star Trek as three separate offenses? Because by my count you have at least five more to go."

"You'll eat uni, even though it made you want to vomit – don't lie, I know that look – because you can't lose a bet. You never lose your cool over anything. And you are always right even when you aren't."

"Fourteen." Marshall's voice had gone very quiet, and the look in his eyes was no longer amused. It was something...

Mary didn't want to think what that look was. The last time she'd seen it she had run for the hills with Mike Faber and what a mistake that had been. Better she ignore it. She dropped his gaze and shrugged, "Fifteen, you never let me win." Marshall smirked a little at that. It was true that Mary rarely won any of their bets, and that the one of two times she had come close he had drawn out the bet until it ended in his favour. Could he help it if making her exasperated with him was one of his favourite hobbies? It wasn't like she didn't have her own annoying quirks. He could never be wrong, but she could never be in the dark. Ever. The snooping that had uncovered his secret was just one in a very large list of examples of Mary Shannon poking her nose where it had no business being.

Yet a part of him was ridiculously pleased that she had worked so hard to prove to herself that he didn't have a girlfriend. _It doesn't mean anything_, he reminded his runaway brain.

"Sixteen," Mary continued, "two words: Dumbo Ears."

"Do you want to have dinner at my place tonight?"Marshall asked before he had a chance to think the question through.

Mary's eyes lit up predictably at the thought of free food. "Are you cooking?"

"Steak, asparagus and banana cream pie."

She licked her lips without even realizing she had. "What time should I be there?"

"Seven?"

"I'll bring the wine."

* * *

Mary arrived promptly at seven, a bottle of wine in each hand. Marshall let her into the kitchen only long enough to uncork one bottle and pour herself a glass. Mary and kitchens were not a safe combination. Sure she could cook basic foods and some of her classics were quite good, but anything resembling gourmet food was completely beyond her. The idea of marinating a steak for hours in beer would, in Mary's eyes, be nothing but a waste of perfectly good alcohol.

This was hardly the first time he had banished her from his kitchen, which was why Marshall was quite surprised to have Mary barging back in only five minutes after he'd sent her to watch his plasma and relax.

"Where is it?"

"where is what?" Marshall asked absently, focusing on the food he was prepping more than on the blonde woman hovering in the doorway

"The rest of that story. I know there's more than half a page."

That got Marshall's attention. He turned away from the stove and faced her dead on. "And if there is?"

"Let me read it."

"No."

"Come on Marshall!"

"Not a chance."

"Why not? Is it _dirty_?" Mary's eyes sparkled at the thought. "Did Marshall Mann, puritan-boy-genius write Harry Potter _porn_?"

Marshall's cheeks flamed red.

"You _did_!" She was practically bouncing now. "Where is it?"

"I burnt it?" Marshall tried weakly.

"Likely story. It's probably in your bedroom closet." The word closet seemed to spark a new line of thought, "Jesus, Marshall, it isn't gay porn is it?"

"No. It's not porn at all."

She scoffed. "Give it to me to read, then I will believe you."

"Mare, come on. Do you want me to cook us a delicious dinner?"

The smell of steak had already set Mary's mouth to watering. "Fine." She conceded, turning to leave the kitchen, "But this is not over."

Good provided a great distraction and Mary did not mention Marshall's story again until she was settled into his couch and he handed her a generous slice of banana cream pie.

"You know what would make this a million times more delicious?"

Bracing himself for what he knew would come next Marshall allowed her to lead him into her little trap, "What?"

"A really good Harry Potter gay porn fan fiction written by my very own partner."

"Mare!"

"You know you'll give it to me eventually," She was smiling unrepentantly and he had a sudden flashback to a very uncomfortable conversation in the office when Mary got it into her head to discuss firsts. He'd given in to her then, she probably assumed he would now. "Why not just do it now and get it over with."

"What did I ever do to you?" Marshall asked, flopping back against the couch with a groan, his own plate of pie clutched to his chest like a safety blanket. .

"Think of it as payback for that time you got that damn song stuck in my head."

"Which song?"

"You know which song," Mary said, her tone and glare daring Marshall deny it.

"Double rainbow all the way across the sky," he sang, wide grin on his face.

The rest of the song was cut off abruptly as Mary launched a forkful of banana cream pie at his head. It hit his left cheek like a tiny atom bomb and splattered, covering a quarter of his face with white creamy pie filling. Mary's triumphant laughter lasted only until Marshall's retaliatory piece of pie smacked into her forehead.

It. Was. On.

Giving up on the too small tongs of her fork, Mary took the rest of her piece in one hand and lobbed it at him, she miss calculated and the pie slice sailed past his ear and landed on the hardwood floor of his apartment instead.

"Oh no you didn't!" Marshall took his own slice of pie in hand and planted it squarely into Mary's face.

Blinded by cream pie she leapt in the direction of his hysterical laughter, managing to grab him around the waist and tackle him to the floor, right on top of the slice of pie she'd tried to throw in his face.

Mary was on her feet before Marshall had a chance to move and hurrying towards the kitchen. Three quarters of a pie was in the silver pie tray on his counter if she could just get to it before Marshall clued in.

Unfortunately Marshall seemed to have had the exact same thought and his legs were longer. Mary tried to block the kitchen door with her body, but Marshall simply grabbed her by the waist, spun them both so he was in the kitchen and she was not and set her down again. He grabbed the pie in one arm and held it menacingly above his head. The twinkle in his blue eyes dared her to try and take it from him.

_Challenge accepted_. Mary thought, a feral gleam in her own eyes and she sized up her partner, trying to best decide how to take him down without getting the pie all over herself. She made a choice the moment he started towards her. She ducked as he thrust and instead of getting a pie in the face, she managed to snatch it from his hands and trip him at the same time.

Marshall seemed to fall in slow motion. It was funny how that always happened with tall people - as if the ground didn't want to bear the full brunt of the impact and so it made a deal with gravity to go easy on tall people. He wind milled his arms in a desperate bid to save himself, managing only to turn sideways so his left hip took the full impact.

Mary didn't hesitate. As soon as he hit the ground she dropped on top of him, forcing him to lie on his back and straddling his hips with her own. A decidedly evil smile on her face she planted the mostly full pie plate into his face.

Strong arms grabbed her by the hips, aborting her attempts to flee the scene. Holding her firmly with both hands, Marshall turned his head to the side, throwing off the pie plate before glaring up at her. "You will pay for this Shannon." He said in a dark voice.

Mary struggled to stand, but only ended up a few inches lower down her partner's body. His large hands had her firmly and no matter how much she squirmed she couldn't seem to loosen a single finger.

She tried to glare back at him, but the sticky clumps of cream covering most of his face and her anger dissolved into giggles that didn't stop until he suddenly flipped them over so she was the one lying on his kitchen floor and it was his with holding her there. Suddenly there was nothing funny about it.

Her legs still wrapped around his hips and his weight against her was warm and solid. His eyes were dark and Mary found it hard to breathe.

Marshall used one hand to hold himself up while the other wiped away the pie filling from his face. Each handful of whipped cream and banana was smeared on Mary's face until she was sure she looked as ridiculous as he did. But still his weight pressed against her, and his dark eyes never left her own and it was hard to breathe.

When he was finished smearing her with pie, Marshall stood and let her up. For reasons she didn't want to examine too closely Mary felt keenly disappointed.

"You can shower first," Marshall offered gesturing in the general direction of his bathroom. "there's an extra robe in the cupboard, those out your clothes and I'll wash them."

For once Mary resisted teasing her partner for being the girl in their relationship. there was something much more pressing tonight than her desire to tease him about his cleanliness. Catching his gaze and holding it, Mary slowly, deliberately began unbuttoning her shirt. If the slackening of his jaw and dilated pupils were any indication, Mary had not misread the moment earlier.

When she finished with the last button she slid the shirt off and let it fall to the floor. She watched Marshall's Adams apple bob. _oh yeah, he likes this. _next came her jeans. Slowly, still keeping both eyes glued to her partner's face, Mary loosened the fly of her jeans and let them fall to the floor. This time she sore Marshall moaned just a bit.

Clad only in a black lace bra and matching panties, Mary closed the distance between them.

Marshall, as if suddenly realizing what was happening, backed away from her until his back met the counter and he could go no further. "Mare?" He sounded almost afraid.

"Technically this is our third date." She said, grinning as his expression changed to one of confusion for several moments. "Movie night last Friday, lunch yesterday and tonight you cooked dinner," she said, ticking them off on her fingers.

"Are you sure?"

Mary skipped his shirt completely and started on his belt and fly. "Oh hell yes."

As if that were the exact thing he had been waiting for, Marshall took control. In a swift motion, he lifted Mary and turned them so she was sitting on the counter top and he was nestled between her thighs. And then his lips were on hers. The kiss tasted of the pie that was still smeared over both of their skin, it was sweet and absolutely perfect.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Marshall smirked down at her, "you're a mess."

"Back at you," Mary replied.

"I have some scented bubble bath."

This time Mary couldn't resist." You're such a girl."

"You think so, do you?"

Even as she pressed her pelvis against growing proof that Marshall was definitely not a girl, Mary nodded. "Hell yeah."

In the hours that followed Marshall proved her wrong. More than once.

* * *

Mary woke early feeling deliciously well rested after only a couple hours of sleep. She stretched languidly, both arms above her head, back arched. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the blue ceiling of Marshall's bedroom. She smiled, images of the night before; Marshall's eyes nearly black with lust, the desperate way he moaned and thrust towards her as she teased the tip of his cock with her tongue until he was delirious with need, and the way he'd screamed her name as he spilled within her. God it had been an incredible night. If she'd known this was what she was missing, she would have gone there years earlier.

"Good morning," Marshall's deep baritone voice sent a warm tingle down Mary's spine.

She turned on her side so she could look at him. His hair was a mess and there was still a little cream pie filling glomped on his cheek, but he had never looked more attractive. "Morning," she murmured, leaning forward to lick the pie filling off his cheek.

Marshall caught her face and pulled her in for a kiss. His lips were warm and tasted suspiciously like toothpaste. For a self conscious second Mary wondered how awful her own must taste, brushing her teeth was not something that had even crossed her mind the night before. The thought was quickly soothed away as Marshall pulled her closer.

Breaking away from the kiss Mary smiled, "I could get used to that."

Marshall shook his head, "I won't ever get used to it."

One corner of Mary's mouth rose in a smile and she sat up, letting the sheet fall away from her naked body, enjoying the awed look in Marshall's blue eyes. "You'd better or we're both going to get fired." She straddled his hips. "In fact, I think we should stay right here until you do."

Marshall ran both hands up her thighs, "Now that, I can do." He slid one long finger between their bodies, rubbing a slow circle between her sensitive folds.

Mary arched against him, already wet. She almost whimpered when he pulled his hands away from her, but seconds later he had her by the waist and flipped them both so he was above her. For once, Mary didn't mind that she wasn't on top. Marshall's weight pressing against her wasn't oppressive like other lover's she'd had over the years. It just felt right.

Their lips met in a searing kiss that was more teeth than tongue. Marshall kneaded one breast using his other to caress the curling brown hair between her legs with teasing softness until she lifted her hips towards him in a desperate bid for increased contact.

He broke off the kiss and dropped his mouth to suckle at her breast. His mouth was hot against her skin and she threaded her hands through his silky hair urging him on. He was burning her alive and how she would love to die in his arms. He trailed kisses across her belly before arriving at the nest of curls between her thighs. Mary spread her legs without really thinking about it still urging him onward with ten fingers against his scalp.

He paused with his face so close to her she could feel the cool whoosh of his breath stirring her pubic hairs and met her gaze. "Watch." he said, his deep voice sending shivers of pleasure up Mary's spine. "Watch while I make you scream."

She couldn't have looked away from his brilliant blue eyes if she'd wanted to.

He used his fingers first. One. And then two. Sliding into her slowly while his thumb circled her clit with varying pressure. Enough to bring her to the edge, but never enough to push her over. He kept his eyes locked on hers, _so _intense, pupils dilated with arousal. When he took her clit into his mouth she thought she might pass out. She fought the urge to close her eyes and give in to ecstasy. He wanted her to watch.

It wasn't long before her muscles tightened, "Oh God! Marshall!" and her world exploded in orgasm.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART II**

When Mary arrived at the office Monday morning there was a stapled stack of paper on her desk. She couldn't help the grin that covered her face when she realized what it was. It was a damn good thing Marshall wouldn't be in for at least an hour, because there was no way she was going to make it through without busting a gut laughing, despite the sticky note he'd attached to the first page that threatened of no sex for a week if she teased him about it.

Marshall never could hold out on her for long.

* * *

**It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time  
**_a Harry Potter Fanfiction by MarshMann_

**Chapter 1: Quidditch and Quarrelling **

"Weasley has spotted the snitch!" Ernie MacMillan's magically magnified voice filled the capacity stadium. It was the much anticipated first Slytherin Gryffindor matchup of the Quidditch Season and not a single student wanted to miss this. Minus Harry Potter and Ron Weasley the Gryffindor team managed to scrape a win over Hufflepuff already that season, but Slytherin too had gone undefeated in their first game against Ravenclaw. The winner of this match would have the edge on the cup, only increasing the already bitter tensions between the houses.

Headmaster Snape sat at the top of the teacher's box, his dark eyes following the play, a contemptuous smile on his lips. Despite their valiant efforts, Gryffindor hadn't yet managed to get a single goal past Blaise Zabini (the new Slytherin Keeper) and unless the Weasley girl beat Malfoy to the snitch, the game would be all Slytherin. He had been tempted to call of Quidditch altogether this year. With both sides gearing up for a fight and attacks possible at any second, he knew the students would be safer indoors, but they also needed something to focus on. Something that wasn't a casualty list or the steadily emptying house tables as concerned parents pulled their children out of the safest place in England in a vain attempt to protect them from the coming war.

On the pitch Ginny Weasley flattened herself over the handle of the Firebolt, willing her body onwards, faster, faster. She could see the golden gleam of the snitch ten meters out, but she was closing in on it and Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. The Firebolt seemed to read her desperate pleas for speed, whipping her along after the elusive golden prize. Harry had given her permission to use his Firebolt for this season's Quidditch, it wasn't much good to him on the run with Hermione (who was scared to death of flying), but she didn't know how she would ever go back to a hand me down comet after this.

Draco Malfoy followed the redhead's progress across the pitch for a few seconds before he made out the glittering snitch through the misty rain that had coated the Scottish highlands for the last six weeks straight. The girl and the snitch were rounding towards him and he was certain if he moved quickly he could beat her to it. Bending low and fastening his eyes on the tiny winged ball he dove towards it.

"Malfoy is in pursuit, but will he be fast enough?"

All eyes in the stands turned to watch the seekers, blonde and red flying at breakneck speeds on a collision course, the snitch a tiny spark of light near the middle of the steadily closing gap. When it looked as though they might collide in a matter of seconds, neither walling to pull up and out of the race, the snitch suddenly shot straight up in the air.

Malfoy yanked up on his broom handle and practically held his breath, he could see nothing but the snitch and a flash of red just below him that gained ever so slightly with each second that they rocketing upwards.

Neither seeker saw the bludger until it was too late. It hit Malfoy squarely in the ribs, stealing his breath and tossing him from his broom and right into Ginny. Not prepared for an impact, let alone for being tackled by her fellow seeker, lost her grip and the pair toppled to the ground.

Ginny woke seven hours later to a pounding in her skull and an unfamiliar ceiling.

"If you're looking for wonder boy and the idiot sidekicks, they never showed." A cool male voice came from Ginny's right.

_What the hell are you talking about?_ Ginny tried to ask. What came out was more a hoarse grunt that made her sore throat ache.

"I know. It's disappointing really." The drawling voice continued as if Ginny's attempt at speech had been an outraged grunt. "It would be worth the inconvenience just to have your ugly redheaded self back in the hovel where you belong."

Despite the pounding head and aching muscles, Ginny managed to turn far enough to glower at the owner of the obnoxious voice who'd dared insult her family home and her hair in the same breath. _Malfoy?_ She didn't know why she was surprised. From everything she had seen and heard about Draco Malfoy he was a spoiled, smug son of a death eater who had no greater entertainment than to torture Ron, Harry and Hermione. "You're one to talk, ferret." She sneered. The look on his face was worth the pain talking caused.

Any retort the steaming blonde might have had was abruptly cut off by the arrival of Madame Pomfrey with a tray of unpleasant looking potions. "Nice to see you awake Miss Weasley." The mediwitch's bright smile didn't even falter when Malfoy scoffed behind her.

Ginny tried to return the smile but it turned into a grimace of pain.

Madam Pomfrey tutted in a motherly manner and handed Ginny a steaming class of eggplant coloured potion, it smelt like Ron's socks. "Drink up, there's a girl. It will help with the headache. Nasty fall you two had."

Draco made a face as she handed him an identical glass. "It smells like Weasley." He muttered bitterly.

"I know dear," Madam Pomfrey said absently, waving her wand over Ginny's body the diagnostic spells lighting up greens, blues and reds.

Ginny glared at him, but kept silent as the mediwitch worked. Malfoy was a prat but not worth making a fool of herself for.

Madam Pomfrey finished her diagnostic spells and smiled at her charges. "Another week here and you should be right as rain."

_A week?_ Ginny's brain refused to give words to the horror of an entire week in the infirmary, let alone an entire week in the infirmary with Malfoy

"My father will-"

But Madam Pomfrey did not gave Draco a chance to explain the seven ways Lucius would destroy her career, reputation and life in that order). "The headmaster has already spoken to your father AND his personal physician and both agree that Hogwarts is the safest place for you both. What with St Mungos filled to capacity with blast victims and the like. Now drink this," she handed them each a small phial of bright red liquid, "and get some rest."

Draco glared mutinously at her for a full 30 seconds before exhaustion won over irritation. The potion smelt like hot summer rain and had almost no flavour. In seconds he was floating on a sea of delicious, dizzy exhaustion, on the edge of dreams.

Madam Pomfrey settled herself on a straight backed chair across from her two charges. It was something of a miracle they looked as good as they did. As a healer she hated Quidditch. It was a dangerous game at the best of times, and these were far from the best of times. All four house teams but Slytherin were three fourths new players who, despite boundless enthusiasm, lacked the flying skills and unique hand eye coordination Quidditch required. This meant that Bludgers were constantly misdirected, catching the Quaffle but losing balance on ones broom and five hour games that were finally called off due to dark not the catching of the snitch. It was a wonder no one had been killed. The headmaster was no help either. Severus Snape was not a man who took constructive criticism, or any criticism kindly. Her job had become much harder since the loss of Albus Dumbledore, followed by the loss of half the students and a fair number of the staff.

Still, despite the Carrows, Hogwarts felt like the safest place to be. Poppy had never been one to concern herself with the political. She'd been a school girl in the time of Grindelwald and had seen horrors enough on both sides to leave her determined to stay as far from political intrigue as possible. Her training at St Mungos to become a mediwitch had further solidified her neutral stance. The hospital training program emphasised the value of every life and the healer's vital function in preserving and improving life without judgement or bias. When she'd been appointed healer at Hogwarts in the early years of Voldemort's first bid for power she had been approached by Albus and asked to join the Order of the Phoenix. She had declined and even now, with Voldemort in the ministry and the Order largely in hiding, she felt she had made the right choice. She hoped Potter would prevail and life would return to peaceful monotony, but her role was here, at Hogwarts caring for these students and preparing for the battle she knew would come before long. The rest was out of her hands.

The hospital wing was dark and quiet when Draco opened his eyes. He lay still for several moments, enjoying the quiet and the fact that, for the first time in days, his head wasn't aching.

He couldn't believe his mother had let Snape and Pomfrey confine him to the infirmary with a _Weasley_ for an entire week. Lucius was angry about Draco's failure last spring and the disgrace it had allegedly brought the Malfoy family. Ironic that the letter condemning Draco for his un-Malfoy cowardice came from Azkaban Prison where his father had been incarcerated for nearly a year. Apparently the Malfoy Patriarch was immune to shame.

A shrill scream split the silence of the infirmary, pulling Draco from his thoughts. It took him several seconds longer than it should have to realize the scream came from the redhead sleeping in the next bed. Before he had a chance to do anything she sat up suddenly cried out in pain at the sudden movement and collapsed back against the bed, breathing heavily.

"You're in the Infirmary at Hogwarts. It was a dream. I'm sure Potter is alive to be obnoxious another day." Draco smirked a little, "Now I know it's disappointing, but sometimes in life, Weasley, things don't go our way... but then, I guess I don't have to tell that part to you. Your entire life has been a disappointment."

"Shut your face, Malfoy." Ginny spat, massaging her aching head with one hand. "Harry Potter is twice the man you are."

"Put on a little weight has he? He should really watch that. they say the camera adds ten pounds and it really wouldn't do to have the hero of the wizarding world looking like Longbottom's fat, ugly cousin."

Gritting her teeth against the ache in her head, Ginny slowly leveraged herself into a sitting position so she could glare at him properly. "You're just jealous."

"Of Potter's facial scar and deep need to attention?" He let the insult linger in the air for a moment before continuing, enjoying the mute fury radiating from the youngest Weasley. It was a shame he hadn't known until tonight how much more fun it was to torment the Weasley Femme than her ginger posse of brothers. "You've found me out, I always wanted to poor, ugly and completely deluded. It's the trifecta"

"At least Harry never had to buy friends!"

"No, you're right," Malfoy's voice dripped sarcasm, "No one has ever liked Harry Potter for anything other than his winning personality. His instant popularity at Hogwarts had nothing to do with surviving Avada Kedavra when he was too young to know what death was, or cheating his way into the Tri-Wizard-"

"Harry didn't cheat-"

"- Tournament. Perfect Potter pandering to his adoring public wouldn't know anything about superficial friendships."

"-Bartie Crouch put his name in the cup so that Voldemort-"

"You _are_ as naive as you look." Malfoy sounded genuinely stunned instead of snide and it cut Ginny off mid-word.

"Voldemort killed Cedric Diggory. You were there!"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "If by there you mean at Hogwarts when Potter appeared blabbing like a lunatic about things he doesn't understand. Yes. I was also there when the Minister and every other respectable Wizard in Britain told the world what I have known since first year. Potter is no more than a fame-loving fraud who has a little more luck than your average idiot."

"You're pathetic."

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard," Malfoy sang.

Ginny could feel the flush of embarrassment creeping up from collarbone to hairline. Why, oh why in Merlin's name had she bought that bloody singing valentines card? It wasn't like Harry had even noticed the card. Even when they had dated he'd never mentioned it. True she'd been twelve and more than a little socially awkward, but it was still humiliating.

"What is going on in here?" Madame Pomfrey

"Nothing." Ginny and Draco answered in speedy unison.

The healer raised both eyebrows in obvious disbelief. "Well, it's time for your potions, but in the morning you will keep your voices down and act like civilized patients or so help me Merlin I will keep you here in isolation for a month. Do I make myself clear?"

Ginny nodded, "Of course, Madame Pomfrey. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"What she said." Draco said sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest in obvious defiance.

Twenty minutes and three vials of potion later and both students were fast asleep. Madame Pomfrey stayed only long enough to make sure they were truly asleep before warding the hospital wing and setting out in search of the Headmaster.

"It's been less than forty-eight hours and they're already fighting like dogs."

Severus templed his fingers in front of his face and regarded the medi witch thoughtfully. Poppy Pomfrey was one of a small handful of staff members at Hogwarts who didn't treat him like a murderous traitor - well, technically he was both, but not in the way they thought - and it had given him a new respect for her. Still, he didn't know where her loyalties lay and he had already received a sound lashing from Lucius via owl for confining Malfoy junior to Hogwarts Infirmary rather than sending him to a specialist at St. Mungos or even home to the dubious care of his mother- Narcissa Malfoy nee Black had never been much of a nurturer. He'd managed to rebuff Lucius's complaints, claiming that it was better for the boy's personal safety not to leave Hogwarts with the Order clamouring for blood. The excuse worked to still Lucius's complaints, but it was not the real reason Severus had chosen to back Pomfrey's decision to detain the Malfoy boy and the Weasley girl in the infirmary for a week while their head injuries healed the slow way.

_"How are they?" Severus stood just inside the hospital wing, reluctant to interrupt the mediwitch any more than necessary and she bustled about the ward, gathering potions and running diagnostic spells. _

_The tri-coloured aura around Ginevra Weasley's body dissolved as Poppy dropped her wand and turned to the headmaster. "It's quite serious, but they'll both pull through in time."_

_"Shall I let St. Mungo's know to expect them?" _

_Poppy looked startled. "I-" she faltered. _

_"No slight to your skills, Poppy," he assured her with a tight smile, "You've healed my own wounds a time or two, I know you are more than capable. I merely thought it might lighten your burden if we sent one or both of them to St. Mungo's. You do so much already."_

_Feathers smoothed by the headmaster's statement of confidence in her abilities, Poppy smiled gently, "I appreciate the consideration, Headmaster, but I believe a familiar environment would be best for their recovery. Brain injuries are tricky. I've stopped the bleeding and neither seems to have suffered permanent damage, but they will need rest and observation for at least a week. I'm afraid the chaos of St. Mungo's might increase stress and slow the healing." _

_"Of course." Severus inclined his head, a visible concession to her authority in this matter, "You will keep me updated on their progress and inform me of any potions you need?" There was no way Severus would let anyone else brew healing potions destined for the Malfoy heir and a Weasley. There were at least seven undetectable poisons simple enough that even Neville Longbottom could accomplish using only the ingredients of a first year's kit. No, he would see to any brewing himself. _

_"Would you please inform the children's parents. I would feel better about confining the children with parental knowledge and consent."_

_Severus nodded absently, already picturing the cold fury that would fill Lucius Malfoy's eyes the moment he received word that Draco was being housed with a Weasley. It was almost enough to make him smile. _

"Sir?" Poppy broke through his thoughts.

"You have my full support to do what needs doing, Madame Pomfrey. However, before locking them in private isolation beds might I suggest giving them a better outlet for their rivalry? Perhaps chess. If I recall Ronald Weasley was quite gifted, perhaps some of it rubbed off."

Poppy was taken aback, but she smiled and thanked the headmaster for the suggestion. She had thought of exploding snap but decided it was too vigorous a game for her injured charges, but wizards chess really only involved the brain. Well, it was worth a shot.

* * *

Mare,

This is chapter one. If you want the rest, you will never mention this to anyone.

– Marshall

Mary stared at the last page and the scribbled note from Marshall with a frown. The dreams she'd had of mocking Marshall for his writing abilities, his cheesy plots and the porn she was reasonably certain lurked within, fizzled. If she wanted to get to the good stuff she would have to play by his rules. It wasn't something she'd ever been good at, but she could fake it. At least until he handed her the chapter she needed to he never got laid – at least not by anyone who wasn't her – for the rest of his life.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope my fic within a fic was as much fun to read as it was to write. The Harry Potter part of this is not completed yet… I have an outline, but I have not yet finished it. When it is it will be posted on as its own story for anyone who wants to read on .


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